Wet Swedish Fingerlings, aching for harvest
I admitted to a friend of mine that I have been having some episodes of insomnia lately. My cause for worry? Not global warming, not the health-care fiasco, not a terrorist attack. Nope. I was worried about my potatoes.
What’s to worry about potatoes? Plant one in the ground, you get back 8-10 potatoes: that kind of math should cause me no worries, right? Well, true to form, our August has been a wet one. And wet soil can mean rotten potatoes. So every nightly thunderstorm, every nightly sprinkle, CLICK my eyelids flash open and I worryworryworry.
The first year the skies opened up in August I was told “this is highly unusual.” Normally our Augusts see about 4″ of rain, nothing to sneeze at, but every year since I was apprised of what is “normal” we have had, in some instances, more than twice that number, sometimes on the same weekend.* And here, the last day of August, we’re 3″ above normal. Time to get the spuds out of the ground, and it’s time to find the time to do so.
(*If something happens four years in a row, isn’t that, well, NORMAL? Like most things, I think we need to adjust our thinking.)
It’s a pity. Leaving them in the ground (without rain, that is) is a great way to store them. I would simply harvest them before the frost. Ah well. I have harvested about 75% of them and, well, I can now sleep at night!